


Witches' Business

by SassySnowperson



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe: Portal to Narnia, Competency, Gen, Humor, Pratchett-style witches are not impresed with Lewis-style witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:28:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26304898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassySnowperson/pseuds/SassySnowperson
Summary: Granny Weatherwax gave a disapproving sniff as she looked around. "I told you Mrs. Pogget's  strange new closet was trouble." She tilted her head, walking over to a lamppost, perched proudly alongside the path. "Out of place," she muttered, mostly to herself.
Relationships: Gytha "Nanny" Ogg & Esmerelda "Granny" Weatherwax
Comments: 56
Kudos: 142
Collections: Alternate Universe Exchange 2020





	Witches' Business

**Author's Note:**

  * For [facethestrange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/facethestrange/gifts).



> Hello facethestrange, I was so enchanted by the idea of Discworld witches winding up in Narnia, thank you for the prompt! Hope you enjoy this take on it :D

"Well," Nanny Ogg said, putting her hands on her hips and surveying the scenery, "this is unusual." 

All around her were hills, the rolling sorts, and they were covered in a thick blanket of snow. Wrong and Wronger. It was the height of summer in Lancre; they had traded their snow for biting insects months ago. And Lancre's mountains went more for sharp and stabbing rather than gentle and rolling. This place looked like a storybook, and Nanny Ogg didn't trust it one bit. 

"I'll say," Granny Weatherwax replied, looking around with a sniff. "I told you Mrs. Pogget's strange new closet was trouble." She tilted her head, walking over to a lamppost, perched proudly alongside the path. "Out of place," she muttered, mostly to herself. 

Nanny Ogg went ahead and let Granny get on with the figuring. She was good at figuring. Nanny was good at people. Even strange, half-goat people, like the gentleman currently approaching them, carrying an armful of parcels. (She assumed he was a gentleman because he had a scarf. Very gentlemanly things, scarves.)

"Hallo!" she called cheerfully, waving at the man. 

"Good gracious me!" the goat-man exclaimed, startling and dropping all his parcels to the ground. Clumsy move that. Nanny hoped there wasn't anything too valuable in there. It'd be a shame to nick a package and find it broken. Not that she would nick a package. Probably. 

Nanny hurried forward to help with him pick things up. "Oop! Careful now!" 

"Ah," the goat-man said, slowly accepting the parcels that Nanny handed to him. "Good…evening?" 

"Well you're more likely to know what time of day it is than I am, boyo!" Nanny declared. She squinted up at the sky. "Seems twilightish to me." 

"Excuse me—are you? That is, am I right in assuming that you are a Daughter of Eve?" the goat-man asked. 

Nanny shook her head. "Mum's name was Peril. They were trying to name her after that thing that them clams turn sand into, but the travelling professors weren't real clear on the name. Still, after she ran into a burning barn to save a chicken at just seven years old, everyone agreed the name she had probably suited her better. I'm Gytha Ogg, you can call me Nanny Ogg, and that there is Mistress Weatherwax. And you are?" 

The goat-man blinked at the pleasant onslaught of words. After a moment, he seemed to get his bearings and respond, "Oh, I'm—I'm Mister Tumnus, pleasure to meet you. But—ah, forgive me—you are Human, correct?" 

"Not sure I like that sound of that capital letter," Granny Weatherwax broke in. 

Mister Tumnus blinked wide guileless eyes. "I'm afraid I don't understand." 

"Hm," Granny Weatherwax said, folding her arms and glaring around at the scenery. "Something's wrong." 

"Oh! I'm being terribly rude!" Mister Tumnus exclaimed in a posh fit of manners. "May I offer you some tea?" 

Nanny Ogg glanced over at Granny, who inclined her head slightly. Nanny turned back to Mister Tumnus with a wide smile. "I'm certainly not one to turn down a cuppa!" 

* * *

Mister Tumnus had a nice enough place, all cozy and warm. He had nice enough tea, too, also cozy and warm. He also had a secret, which was probably not very nice at all (and certainly not cozy or warm—secrets, it is well known, are cold, uncomfortable things). He was too jittery by half, always seemed to be on the verge of tears or jumping out of his fur. 

Nanny Ogg and Granny exchanged a Look. It was the sort of Look that contained an entire conversation, only possible after years of friendship.

A twitch at the corner of Nanny's mouth said Poor dear, he's really a very terrible liar. 

A bare tightening around Granny's eyes replied Well yes, but that doesn't mean his lie isn't trouble. 

Nanny's infinitesimally raised eyebrow asked Well, would you like to crack him or shall I? 

Granny's chin dipped a hair, declaring I could crack him in seconds, but you should go ahead, I'll have fun watching. 

Nanny Ogg turned to Mister Tumnus with a bright smile. "You know what would really make your tea extraordinary? Some of my Special Tea Add On. Come on, then!" Nanny pulled a flask out from her skirt and tippled a good portion of it into Mister Tumnus's cup. "It's made of apples." 

* * *

Mister Tumnus sprawled across the table, sobbing against his folded arms as he drunkenly declared, "You shoul' be so nice! Y're too nice! I'm _evil!_ " He punctuated the last word with a hiccup. 

Nanny reassuringly rubbed her hand across his shoulders. "Now, you don't strike me as evil, and goodness knows, I've known some evil sorts. You seem like you're just in a bit of a pickle. Why don't you tell me all about it, so we can de-pickle you right quick." 

"The Whi—The Whiiiiiii—" 

"How much Special Tea Add On did you put in there?" Granny muttered. 

"Barely a drop!" Nanny protested in a whisper across Mister Tumnus's back. "And shush. I'm working here."

It all came out gradually. The White Witch had apparently shown up in the goat-man's nice country (called Narnia, which was a bit of an odd name, but two women from Lancre weren't going to go judging) and enslaved it. She had cursed it to be endless winter and never Christmas. 

("What in Offler's Pointy Teeth is a Christmas?" Granny Weatherwax had muttered. 

"Maybe they have an extra season?" Nanny shrugged.) 

"And I do her ev—evil bidding! Because I'm a coward!" Mister Tumnus burst into noisy sobs again. "I have to find Humans and bring them to her." 

Nanny Ogg and Granny Weatherwax exchanged another long Look over Mister Tumnus's head. 

Both of their noises flared, declaring the whole thing a Nasty business 

Granny's little sneer said that this White Witch was giving Witches a bad name, what with the cursing and all. 

Nanny's wrinkles deepened in a precursor to a smile that decided Someone ought to do something about that, shouldn't they? 

And proper witches always knew that the, 'Someone,' in, 'Someone ought to do that,' really meant 'You.' 

"Well then," Granny Weatherwax said, "If this White Witch wants to meet us so badly, I think you'd better do just that." 

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" Nanny Ogg muttered to Granny Weatherwax, as they crested a hill. Newly visible in front of them was a stark white castle, full of intimidating spikes and angry looking statues, and arranged around it an army that fell somewhere between 'teeming' and 'swarming.' 

"Don't get cold feet now," Granny Weatherwax said severely. "I don't approve of this nonsense," Granny waved a dismissive had over the grandeur, "being associated with witches. Need to do something about that." And with that she set her chin and started striding toward the castle. 

"Is she a Hero?" Mister Tumnus asked, his voice full of awe. 

"Nah, boyo, she's a witch. A proper one, though. Don't worry, we'll sort you out. Now come on, put some pep in your feet! You can hardly claim to be dragging us in if we get there without you." Nanny hurried off toward Gytha, and heard some hasty clip-clops as Mister Tumnus trotted to keep up with them. 

Granny Weatherwax striding was always a sight to behold. Most people thought they had seen her striding, but in comparison, what they had witnessed was a casual stroll. Granny's actual stride was a dangerous thing. It put off such a powerful air of, 'Don't you dare get between me and where I'm going,' that they were halfway through the army before one of the shocked guards caught sight of Mister Tumnus (who was trying to stride, but really only managing a stumble) and realized they should probably be doing something about the prisoners. 

However, since the prisoners were striding, sidling (Granny Weatherwax had the winning stride, but nobody could touch Nanny Ogg's sidle), and stumbling _toward_ their doom, instead of away from it, the army settled on muttering and gesturing with their swords. 

They made their way through the army, the gate, and up through the grand, sweeping, probably supposed to be intimidating entrance to the castle. (Unfortunately for the architect, grand architecture was rather unimpressive to witches, who knew what Real Power was, and knew it was never found in buttresses.) They made their way into the throne room, and there _she_ sat. 

The White so-called Witch. 

Nanny Ogg supposed she was trying for intimidating. Pale, blank-faced, with sharp features. Her bone-white hair moved with an unseen wind, and little flurries of snow (which made no sense inside, but Nanny Ogg was willing to give her points for style) swam around her feet. 

"Well," the White Witch said, every syllable as sharp and cold as her face. "Daughters of Eve. Older than I expected." 

"I still don't know who this Eve is," Nanny muttered to Granny. "You think I should tell them about Peril again?" 

"Silence!" the White Witch snapped before Granny could answer. "You are in my realm!" The eddies of snow at her agitated and rose, swirling around her, lazy at first, getting faster and faster as she spoke. "You will heed my words!" 

"Ain't right," Granny said, not loudly, but her voice still echoed through the halls. "All this winter." 

"There is no right!" The White Witch snarled, snow whipping around her in a little indoor blizzard. "There is only power!" 

"Things are meant to balance," Granny continued, like she hadn't even heard the woman. "Winter for summer. Too much of one, not enough of the other and things start going wrong. You traded your heat for power. Made you brittle." 

The White Witch laughed from the center of her vortex of snow. "Quaint," she said, "A folkish belief for a folkish people. Neat little morality. I have true power. And you are powerless to stop it. Two old women? You don't even match the prophecy, which says that four children will—" 

Granny Weatherwax strode across the throne room in five neat steps, and before anyone could think to stop her, reeled back and punched the White Witch across her jaw. The White Witch looked at her with an astounded expression, as if she couldn't believe what had just happened. 

And then, hairline cracks started at her jaw, golden light flickering behind the lines. Her eyes widened, and the cracks spread, growing, the golden glow under her skin becoming stronger and brighter, until the bright golden light seeping out from her was bathing the room. She managed one confused squeak before she dramatically shattered, and the golden light exploded out. 

A moment later, and it was impossible to tell what was the White Witch, and what had been her blizzard, all pieces of snow and ice drifting gently to the ground, sparkling in the joyous brightness breaking through. 

Granny Weatherwax stepped away from the spectacle, shaking out her fist. "Never believed in making children do my work," she muttered. 

"Well that was a very straightforward solution," Nanny Ogg said, sidling over to Granny. "And also hogwash, you made Magrat—" 

"It was a very straightforward problem." Granny shook her head. "And I made Magrat do her _own_ work, there's an important difference there." 

"Fair enough." Nanny caught sight of a faint golden glow around Granny's fist. "Did you go stealing Summer's power to defeat winter?" 

Granny snorted. "Not that stupid. Summer was already bursting at every seam, trying to break through. I may have…borrowed it, for a moment. Just enough to break the dam." 

Nanny glanced around the throne room. Around them, the army was dropping their swords, blinking as if coming out of a stupor. Joining the golden light was pure natural sunlight pouring in through the windows, and Nanny could see water dripping off the roofline as everything melted. "Well that's job well done, it seems." 

Granny shook off the last of the gold around her fist. "Any minute now they're going to be looking for a Hero. Best get out of here before they pin it on us." 

Nanny looked around again, this time focusing more on the magic around them, then what the people were doing. "The veil is thin here." 

Granny Weatherwax gave a disapproving snort. 

"I think it's pretentious language too, but that don't mean it's wrong. If you like, I can say that the blanket that normally separates realities is a little threadbare around here?" 

"Just as true," Granny Weatherwax said, folding her arms. 

"Oh come off it. If you keep being grumpy and obstructive, we'll probably be made queens before we can escape. Come on then," she grabbed Granny's elbow, "should just take some fancy stepping, here we go." 

Nanny stuck out her left foot, wiggled it around in a circle, threw her hip forward, and Stepped. 

They came out in Lancre, three houses down from Mrs. Poggot's house and her decidedly strange closet. 

"Well that was a fun afternoon!" Nanny Ogg said brightly. "Always nice to do a bit of liberating." 

Granny Weatherwax rolled her eyes fondly, then rolled up her sleeves, looking decidedly less fond. "I think that closet is going to make excellent kindling." 

"Agreed," Nanny Ogg said, darting into Mr. Blechin's front yard to borrow the axe sticking out of a tree stump. "Imagine if one of Mrs. Poggot's grandkids wandered through that thing! They'd probably wind up on a Grand Quest. Terrible thing for children, Grand Quests are. Stunts their development." 

"True," Granny Weatherwax said. 

Nanny Ogg tucked her arm in Granny's elbow again, and they strolled (no more need for striding or sidling) back to Mrs. Pogget's house. 


End file.
